More than 16 million Americans were called to serve their country during the struggle that was World War II, and over 400,000 of them made the ultimate sacrifice by giving up their lives.

Pennsylvanians did more than their share; of the nearly 1.25 million Keystone State residents who served in the U.S. Armed Forces during the war, some 33,000 men and women died.

Wartime sacrifices extended beyond the battlefields of Europe and the Far East, however. On the homefront, a different type of sacrifice was made — going without various goods, for example, and plunking down a portion of their hard-earned salaries and savings to help finance that war.

And while there’s no comparison between sacrificing one’s life and going without sugar, meat or gasoline, or giving up a portion of a weekly paycheck to buy what were called war bonds, those who spent the war years at home certainly contributed to what ultimately proved to be victory over the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan.

On the financial front alone, war bonds proved to be a major boost to the war effort. According to ExplorePAHistory.com, the U.S. government began a bombardment of its own – flooding the country with advertising that urged residents to buy bonds as a way to help finance the war. By the time the bond drive ended in early 1946, U.S. residents had purchased $185.7 billion in government bonds. Pennsylvania was second only to New York in the amount of war bonds purchased.

Those bonds made up a sizable part of the U.S. war chest; the federal government raised almost half the money it needed with taxes, and the rest came from borrowing, and most of that borrowing came through the sale of war bonds.

War bond advertising was ubiquitous; the Treasury Department called on some of the top Madison Avenue advertising firms to help design posters and other means of promoting the sale of bonds.

In one poster, a wounded U.S. soldier with a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head asks, “Doing all you can, brother?” while the message “Buy War Bonds” in all uppercase letters is pasted across his chest.

Another poster shows three young children in a field — one holding a model fighter plane, one holding a makeshift tool with a U.S. flag attached and a young girl holding a doll — with the dark outline of a Nazi swastika on the green grass beneath them. “Don’t Let That Shadow Touch Them — Buy WAR BONDS,” the message reads.

Yet another bond ad shows a U.S. pilot in the cockpit of his fighter plane, with more than a half-dozen planes in the sky above him, saying “You buy ‘em we’ll fly em!”

Even in local newspapers, the advertising was relentless. A full-page ad in the April 23, 1943, edition of the Butler Eagle lists the names of all the American Bantam employees in the armed services. The names serve as a border to a cartoon that features a soldier holding a rifle with a bayonet in a what appears to be a forest or jungle; in the background a crude sign reads: “I promise to die, if necessary, to protect your investment.” At the bottom of the cartoon, a message reads: “They give their lives – you lend your money.”

A text block beneath the cartoon tugs at the heartstrings. “You know these men and women … your neighbors. They are former American Bantam Car Company employees. They have laid their lives on the line … surely you can not hesitate to willingly and gladly lay your dollars on the line in the form of WAR BONDS … today! If you fail in this duty, perhaps many of these Butler friends and neighbors will not come back. Every day lost in winning the war lessens their chance at returning safe and sound to their homes and loved ones.”

Another Butler Eagle ad, which appeared in the July 25, 1942, edition, encourages readers to “get aboard the bond wagon!”

“Let’s go, Butler County! Come on, everybody! It takes more than heroes. To win this war, our fighting forces need millions of dollars’ worth of equipment and clothing NOW, in addition to billions of dollars’ worth of planes, tanks, ships and guns. They need them NOW. ‘Later’ may be too late. This is your country. This is your war. What do you say? You have only one answer: Buy War Savings Stamps every day. Buy a Bond every pay day. Can’t afford them? Yes, you can … if you realize that you can’t afford to risk losing this war. That will mean losing your freedom. Better buy those bonds and stamps … they’re cheap at any price.”

Yet another Eagle ad, which ran on July 16, 1942, urges readers to celebrate American Heroes Day the following day by buying bonds. “This day has been set aside to honor the brave boys of Butler County, who are fighting now on every battle front to protect our freedom and the flag we live under. To these brave boys … to the heroes of all our wars, we the people of Butler County, dedicate American Heroes Day. We pledge that on this day we shall honor our heroes in the best possible way … by redoubling our own efforts to win the war … by buying U.S. War Bonds and Stamps in record-breaking numbers so that our boys will have the tools they need to finish the job.”

A Montgomery Ward ad that appeared in the Eagle on April 26, 1943, meanwhile, took a different tack. The ad touted an upcoming sale — America’s Greatest Sale, in fact — but at the same time warned that quantities would be limited because America’s war production “has first call on all raw materials and factories. So, please buy only what you need and let your neighbors have their share of the special Ward Week values.”

In another large advertisement purchased by Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Co. that appeared in the Post-Gazette on April 9, 1943, readers were told of the need to reach into their pockets for the start of the second war loan period, which would get underway three days later.

“13 billion dollars must be raised!” the ad screamed. “The Government of the United States is asking us to lend it 13 billion dollars in the next few weeks.”

The advertisement explained the seven different types of U.S. government securities available, including United States War Savings Bonds Series E, which returned $4 for every $3 spent when the bond matured. These bonds were designed especially for the smaller investor in denominations of $25, $50, $100, $500 and $1,000. The bonds could be redeemed anytime 60 days after the issue date, and the price was 75% of maturity value.

The newspapers didn’t miss an opportunity to promote the war bond effort; a story in the Jan. 11, 1945, issue of the Post-Gazette told the tale of Mrs. Viola Corp of Freedom, Beaver County, who lost two sons in the war but remained undaunted in her efforts to help her country. Her oldest son, Joseph, 23, was killed when the destroyer escort Leopold was sunk in the Atlantic, and her youngest son, Thomas, 22, died after the aircraft carrier Yorktown was sunk.

Despite the deaths of her sons, Viola Corp vowed that she would be “sticking to my war job (at the Beaver plant of the Curtiss-Wright Corp.) and investing every cent I can in war bonds.” The story noted that she bought $3,000 in bonds in the most recent bond drive.

In the first year of the war, Pennsylvania certainly proved it was doing its share; from September 1941 to September 1942, the sale of Series E bonds totaled more than $370 million within the state, and another $287 million in Series F and G bonds also were sold.

Even children got into the act; in addition to bonds, the government created war savings stamps, which came in small denominations – 10 cents, 25 cents, 50 cents, $1 and $5 – and could be collected in a war bond stamp book. One promotion poster featured a woman in a suit of armor holding a sword. “Joan of Arc Saved France,” the wording at the top of the poster read. “Women of American Save Your Country. Buy War Savings Stamps.”

Theresa Yerman, of Pittsburgh, who was 12 when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in December 1941, remembers those war savings stamps. “We would bring our dimes or 25 cents in to school and they’d put it toward a savings bond,” she recalled. “They called them victory bonds.”

Don Weiland, 96, who was living in Oakland Township until he was drafted in 1944, remembers his family contributed to the cause. “We bought war bonds,” he said. “Everyone was patriotic.”

Yerman also recalled some of the other efforts in place to help America and its allies win the war, including asking residents to contribute unused or unwanted metal and rubber items that could be repurposed for the military use. This effort was launched a little over a month after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and was known as the “Salvage for Victory” program.

“Kids went around the neighborhood collecting aluminum pots and pans and rubber items,” she said. “Toys were not exempt from donation — even some train sets were sacrificed.”

The Conservation Division of the War Production Board, working with the federal Office of Education, encouraged school communities to join statewide “Junior Armies” that would organize large-scale salvage drives. The effort had a two-pronged purpose – to collect vital scrap iron, steel, rubber and other materials and to give school-age children a chance to participate in a patriotic activity.

Children also helped their families in another major effort on the homefront — victory gardens. America’s entry into the war in late 1941 meant that food would be needed for the armed forces, and that ultimately led to a nationwide rationing program that began with sugar in May 1942 and would eventually include many food items that Americans came to rely on.

To help offset the loss — or at least the reduced availability — of some of those items, the call went out to those at home to begin planting gardens, which became known as victory gardens. In Pittsburgh, the Pittsburgh Press and KDKA radio joined to build a model victory garden near Children’s Hospital in Oakland. Local department stores, including Gimbels, hosted training sessions to “encourage bigger and better Victory Garden efforts,” according to one advertisement in the May 19, 1943, edition of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

Yerman remembers her grandfather helping out at a victory garden near Frick Park in Pittsburgh; another grandparent had her own backyard garden.

Although the numbers of those participating in victory gardens dropped as the war went along, the project overall proved very successful. Some research showed that at its peak, the gardens produced as much as 40% of the nation’s fresh vegetables. The effort was thought to have had some residual impact beyond the fresh fruits and vegetables that were harvested, as the time it took to plan the gardens, obtain seeds and actually work the land took people’s minds off the fighting overseas.

For those items that couldn’t be grown at home, families had to shop carefully and in some cases had to restrict their purchases, thanks to the widespread rationing program in place for such items as sugar, canned fruit and vegetables, cheese, processed food and meats. The program was designed to make sure the armed forces were fed and at the same time make sure that everyone at home received their fair share of the food that remained.

Families relied on rationing books that contained coupons of various point values to purchase those items; other nonfood items that were rationed included gasoline and fuel oil. The program was overseen by the Office of Price Administration, and some 8,000 rationing boards were established to administer the program.

Yerman remembered going to a nearby meat market and watching her mother purchase various items. “They’d measure it out, of course, because you could only buy so much,” she said. “And then they’d take one of your coupons. I remember eating a lot of canned tuna — that was our main protein for the meal. And I remember getting cracked eggs at the store because they were cheaper. And there were so many of us, they used (the eggs) up fast, so it didn’t matter if they were cracked. Today you wouldn’t eat a cracked egg.”

Weiland recalled having to make do with less gasoline than he was used to having prior to the war. “We were only allowed to have three or four gallons a week,” he said.

To get around that, Weiland’s family would buy “homemade gas” made from local oil wells. “We called it ‘high-test,’” he laughed. “It worked, but it burned pretty quick.”

Gasoline needed to be rationed because it was essential for military uses. Not only did it power the planes, tanks, trucks, jeeps and many water craft, but it was used in army kitchens and medical stations.

“In fact, gasoline is our standard war fuel. Our fighting machine has been geared to it,” a fact sheet from the Office of Price Administration stated. “Perhaps the biggest and most complex single conversion job of the war was the change-over of gasoline and its transportation facilities from unlimited civilian use to emergency war use.”

As a result of rationing, the consumption of gasoline by civilian passenger cars fell to about 61% of pre-war levels by 1943. Of course, there was always a way around rationing, whether it was for gasoline or food.

“There was a black market,” said Bob Leslie, who grew up in New Castle and served in the U.S. Army infantry. “I didn’t know much about it, but I knew some people who participated.”

Yerman knew someone as well; one of her brothers had a friend who could get counterfeit rationing coupons. “It was a racket,” she said. “There were racketeers everywhere.”

The Post-Gazette exposed a thriving black market for meat in a series of stories in which a reporter went undercover and bought over a ton of black market meat and 10,000 red rationing points in less than a month. The series sparked a special U.S. Senate committee hearing, and that resulted in some changes, but the problems were never completely solved before meat was finally removed from the rationing rolls in late 1946 — more than a year after the war ended.

About the only ones who were not affected by rationing were those serving in the armed forces, either at home or abroad.

Helen Buckham Rogerson, 96, who grew up in Butler and now resides in the Concordia at Cabot campus in Butler County, was in the U.S. Marine Corps and worked in an office at Paris Island, S.C. “In the service, you got your food,” Rogerson said.

Weiland recalled getting K-rations while stationed in the Far East; he was on board a ship headed to fight the Japanese in August 1945 when President Harry Truman ordered two atomic bombs to be dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Weiland ultimately spent time in the Philippines, Okinawa and Korea.

“You’d get a little can of some kind of vegetables, some crackers, a candy bar that was made out of some kind of chocolate and four cigarettes,” he said of the K-rations. “We didn’t mind it; when you’re young, you don’t give a damn.”

Leslie, who also resides in the Concordia at Cabot campus, recalled getting both K-rations and C-rations while serving in the 8th Armored Division in France, Germany and Austria. C-rations contained more calories, but that didn’t help Leslie much.

“We all lost weight because we were carrying a load,” he recalled. “I was a machine gunner – I had to carry a rifle, ammunition for it and two boxes of ammunition for the machine gun that weighed 25 pounds apiece.

“It was kind of tough on me. I’m not a big person — I was 5-foot-7 and weighed 130 pounds when I went into the service, but I lost a lot of weight overseas.”

By the time the war ended, Leslie weighed barely 100 pounds. He also suffered from what is now call PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, and was treated for it.

When he looks back on his experiences overseas, he doesn’t mince words.

“War is wrong,” he said. “And anyone who inflicts it should be punished.

“Man can be inhuman.”

Frank Garland is a retired college professor, freelance writer and coordinator of the Pittsburgh Media Partnership, based at Point Park University’s Center for Media Innovation.